


Judged Unfit

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bondage, Corporal Punishment, Degradation, Humiliation, Judge headcannon, Medical Play, Mental Abuse, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other, Panic Attack, Physical Abuse, Referenced Sansby, Sansgore, Sanster, Size Kink, Spanking, Speculum, Stitches, Underfell Asgore Dreemurr, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underfell Undyne, Verbal Bondage, Vibrator, alcohol use, light genital mutilation, mind-control, non-con, non-consensual discipline, underfell gaster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: Sans has become Asgore's Judge.  Unfortunately, that title comes with a whole lot more than a boring job and a pension plan.This was a birthday commission for Uggy (idontevenknowwhattoputhereugh on Tumblr) requested and gloriously proofread by Soul (undertailsoulsex on Tumblr)!  Happy birthday Uggy,  hope you enjoy!  And thank you Soul!  This would have been far more awkwardly worded and full of awful passive sentences without your help  ^_^Mind the tags and be extra careful for non-con, humiliation, degradation, light genital mutilation, panic attack, and alcohol use.  Stay safe  ^_^





	1. Indictment

Sans stared off into space, thinking about how it would feel to have his face pressed against the wall while Grillby fucked him from behind.  The pace would be relentless, driving him onto his toes and filling his pussy with that glorious, tingling heat…

“Judge.  Execute the sentence,” Asgore said.

Sans started, then reluctantly looked up at the monster he was supposed to be judging.  It was an icecap from Snowdin, clutching his precious, pointed hat with both hands and shifting fearfully in place.  The golden light streaming through the Judgement Hall’s windows threw odd shadows over his face, almost hiding the sweat dripping down his forehead.  Sans recognized him. Probably would have recognized his name too, if he’d been paying attention. What were the charges? Disorderly conduct? Public drinking?  Sans couldn’t bring himself to care, and in the end, it didn’t really matter. He hoped the poor bastard wouldn’t hate him too much for what was about to happen next.

“Judge.  Execute the sentence,” Asgore repeated, tone taking on a hard edge.

Sans remained motionless, breathing slowly and evenly.  His chest began to prickle and itch, nagging at him like a half-healed burn.  He ignored it, silently glad that he’d left his jacket at home. He’d gotten so sweaty last time he tried to wear it on a Judgement Day.

“Judge?”  Asgore’s voice was dangerously soft, and it came with an insidious trickle of anger and impatience that crept down his spine, heating the bone and making his nonexistent stomach clench.  It gnawed at his resolve, igniting a silent, desperate sort of anxiety that pushed at him to comply, to give in and make Asgore happy…

Sans took a deep breath and let his eyes unfocus, imagining Grillby’s cock pumping into his pussy so quickly that the lewd, wet slaps overwhelmed his own pleas and moans of pleasure.  The anxiety quickly dissolved into perverse satisfaction, even though a part of him was quietly disgusted by the fantasy. Didn’t matter why, it just felt dirty and unfair to drag Grilbs into this, especially when he’d never actually had sex with the guy…

An icy chill shot through Sans’ soul, cooling his aroused body and forcefully redirecting his attention.  He felt himself twitch once, and then his left arm smoothly lifted itself until it was pointed right at the icecap’s chest.

“Y e s. . .y o u r. . .m a j e s t y,” his voice intoned.

The air thrummed. An enormous bone snout melted into existence, followed by the cranium, darkened eyesockets, and bifurcated jaw of a blaster.  It lifted smoothly into the air and hung there, jagged teeth interlocked over a glowing ball of energy. There was a pause as the icecap stared wordlessly at Sans, mouth half open in shock and betrayed horror.  Then the blaster’s eyes ignited with yellow fire.

“F-fuck!” the icecap spluttered, trying to scramble away.  Sans felt his hand close into a fist, and the little monster lurched forward, crying out as his hat tumbled out of his hands and fell to the floor.  His soul was glowing blue.

“D o n ’t. . .r u n…” Sans heard himself say as Asgore’s cold fury poured into the blaster, laden with malicious intent that wanted to PUNISH, HARM, PUNISH, BURN, BURN, **BURN** -

The blaster fired a brief, controlled shot.  The icecap shrieked, then crumpled, torso steaming and slightly misshapen.  A quarter of his HP was gone.

“My patience is not endless,” Asgore said softly over the icecap’s quiet crying.  “If I see you in my court again, I will not be so merciful.”

The controlling force abruptly released.  Sans stumbled sideways a step, knees almost buckling before he could catch himself.  He felt nauseous, and the space behind his eyesockets throbbed with the beginnings of a nasty migraine, but despite that, he was thrilled.  Five times. Five judgements. He’d made Asgore force him to do every single one of them today. Fuck yeah, he bet he could make it six...

“Court is now adjourned,” Asgore called to the guards at the door.  Sans’ soul leapt, then plummeted at the king’s next words. “Leave us, I need to speak with my judge.”

 

===

 

Sans stumbled along behind Asgore, unable to look at anything but his own, dirty sneakers as he was lead through the Judgement Hall, past the Royal gardens, and into the King’s personal quarters.  The panicky, desperate feeling was back, stronger and more persistent than before. It made him want to go hide in a corner and just shake for a few hours. Maybe even turn around and start running.  Anything but follow Asgore to whatever punishment was due for being a disobedient puppet, and yet…

Sans took a deep breath, then looked up with a silent glare.  There was still plenty of anger underneath the anxiety. He hadn’t chosen this.  A squad of Royal Guards had pinned him to a table and torn his shirt open so that Asgore could brand a goddamn delta rune on his chest and create the Judge’s Seal.  He’d fought like hell, and granted, he was used to picking himself up and washing off the shit that the Underground threw in his face, but becoming someone’s personal murder puppet?  Goddamn, he should have been able to draw a fucking line a few miles away from THAT particular bit of bullshit. He didn’t owe Asgore _anything_ , especially not his goddamn _obedience-_

“Sans,” Asgore began, and Sans choked, feeling his anger instantly dissolve back into that panicky, desperate anxiety.  Knees shaking, he pressed a hand over his mouth, whimpering softly as magic pumped into the space between his legs, making his entire pelvic inlet feel hot and unbearably tight.

_Offer it to him, offer EVERYTHING, make him happy-_

“I want you to explain something for me,” Asgore continued calmly over Sans’ sudden internal meltdown. “I made you a judge two months ago, and I have been lenient with you in the interim, confident that eventually, you would see the need for your position.  The good that your service is doing for my kingdom.”

Sans felt the delta rune burn against his chest, damning his disobedience and pushing at him to DO SOMETHING, DO ANYTHING, MAKE IT BETTER, JUST MAKE IT BETTER-

“I’m sorry, your majesty, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive mnNNGH-“ Sans stammered, breaking off with a strangled cry as magic slipped down his legs, curling sensuously over his femurs like a set of long, delicate fingers.   Asgore turned around, eyes dark and unreadable. Sans was acutely aware of how small and fragile he was as the king reached down, placed a single, massive finger under his chin, and tilted his head up.

“Interesting,” Asgore murmured.  Sans shifted uneasily, then froze, staring at his reflection in Asgore’s huge, liquid eyes.  His left eyelight was glowing, which was pretty normal when he was this upset, but it was supposed to be red.  Instead, it was flickering between his own, innate crimson and buttercup yellow. What the hell...?

“There is a bed in the spare room down the hall,”  Asgore said softly. Sans’ eyelight immediately flashed yellow, and an ecto-body pushed outward against his clothes with a sudden, intense rush of pressure.  “Go inside, lean over the bed, and wait. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes your m-majesty,” Sans managed, dread making the back of his neck burn.

“Go,” Asgore commanded.

Sans unthinkingly walked down the hall, found the spare room as instructed, and then hesitated just inside the threshold.  W-wait…he didn’t want…? What the hell was he doing…?

“Sans?  Were my instructions unclear?” came Asgore’s voice.

“N-no,” Sans gasped, shivering a little as sweat trickled down his spine.

“Then complete them.”

An enormous hand pushed him toward the bed.  The rune pulsed against his chest as he shakily bent down over the mattress and pressed his cheek into the bedspread.

“Sans…” Asgore warned.

Stifling a sob, Sans tugged his shorts and boxers down, exposing the crimson backside that his magic had formed over his pelvis and midsection.

“Sans, is there something you want to tell me about your sexual needs?”  Asgore asked, running a single finger down the exposed length of his spine.

“N-- Y-- Pl-- Nnn...” Sans spluttered, trying to say ‘no’ and ‘please’ at the same time.  Unbidden, his earlier fantasies began to play over in his mind, but now Grillby’s hands were bigger, softer, and cooler…

“P-please your majesty,” Sans finally whispered. He then bit back a moan as Asgore calmly pulled his pants and underwear free of his legs, leaving him dressed only in his t-shirt.

“Please?  Tell me, my judge.  After today, is this something that you deserve?”

“No!” Sans moaned, either in confirmation or denial, he isn’t sure.

“But you did ask.  Very well, you may touch yourself while I’m doing this,” Asgore said.  Sans heard the jingle of a belt-buckle being undone, then shivered as a rush of hot, slick fluid began to dribble down the inside of his conjured thighs.  “But do not allow yourself to climax. Do you understand?”

Sans nodded frantically, and moved his hands to finger his slickened labia and the bud of his engorged, throbbing clitoris.  Four hours of mentally edging himself had left everything swollen, seeping, and so sensitive that it almost hurt. The light pressure of his fingers felt so, unbelievably good...

“I am going to punish you, Sans, and I want you to know that I’m only doing this because the kingdom needs a strong, obedient judge.”

SMACK

“AH!”  Sans shrieked as the flat of a belt whipped across his left asscheek.  It stung sharply and the surge of heat that followed throbbed across his pussy, making him moan from the intensity and raw NEED pounding through his body.

SMACK

“AH!”  Sans shrieked again, rubbing slow, teasing half-circles around his clit without touching it.  His king had commanded that he not climax, he’d been disobedient…

SMACK

“AH-“ Sans groaned tightly, rocking back and forth as the burn rippled through him.  He deserved this, he deserved to be punished and violated; his king had commanded it and he was happy to obey…

“The kingdom cannot tolerate your lack of cooperation and attention.  Going forward, I expect you to complete judgements willingly, and immediately, without hesitation.  Is that clear?”

SMACK

“AH!” Sans screamed, bucking shamelessly into his hand. “Yes, please, I will…”

“You will also pay attention during Judgement Days, instead of distracting yourself with those disgusting sexual daydreams.”

SMACK

“NNNGH-“ Sans groaned, pulling his hand back right before he could climax.  His body cried out, making his legs tremble and chest heave with the need for relief.  “I’m sorry, your majesty, I won’t, I wo-AH!”

“Do not be sorry.  Correct your behavior.”

“AH!  AH!  AH!  AH!  AH!” Sans screamed as blow after blow landed across his ass, leaving broad, livid welts that stung and throbbed.  Absurdly, the internal voices began to calm as the pain spiked, reveling in the agony and humiliation of being belted like a disobedient child.  It was all ok now. His king was punishing him, and then everything would be fine. He would do better, he would BE better…

Sans flinched, then hesitantly relaxed when the next blow didn’t come.  Instead, he felt Asgore’s large hand stroke the welts on his backside, caressing the damaged flesh with a soothing attention that almost felt like pride.

“Bring yourself to climax now,” Asgore murmured, and Sans’ body immediately clenched, riding a blindingly powerful orgasm that had him moaning aloud, eyesockets tightly closed and hips bucking into his own fingers for a blissfully long and breathless moment.

Sans finally collapsed, panting and whimpering quietly as the reality of where he was and what he was doing slowly came back to him.  Had he really just… in front of… what the _fuck_?

“I will summon you again in the morning.”  Asgore said over Sans’ growing mortification.  “You will come promptly, dressed properly, and without any resistance.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Sans whispered, staying face-down against the bed with his ass exposed and hands covered in his own slick.

“I will entertain the possibility that the problem lies with the Seal and not with you, for now.  Prove me correct, and we will not have to repeat this lesson again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Sans choked, overwhelmed tears spilling over his eyesockets and streaming down his cheeks.

“Very well.  Get dressed and go home.”

Sans shakily pushed himself upright and looked around for his clothes.  They had been folded and set on a chair near the door. Sans limped over, picked them up, and then hesitated when he only found his shorts in the pile.

“A reminder,” Asgore replied with a smile, right as Sans spotted his underwear sitting on top of the dresser.  “You have been acting like a whore, and so you can walk home like one. Now go.”

Flushing so hard his cheeks hurt, Sans slipped his shorts on, feeling the material stick painfully to his sore ass.  They did nothing to stop the fluid that was still dripping obscenely down his thighs. Humiliated, angry, and deeply confused, he limped out of the room and began making his way back to Snowdin.


	2. Alternate Juror

Sans found himself standing knee-deep in the river between Hotland and Waterfall when the compulsion to _walk home_ suddenly faded, and his legs happily reminded him that he hated walking.

“Nnngh,” he groaned, letting his knees buckle.  He fell into the muddy water with a splash, then sucked in a breath as cold liquid swirled over his body and made the welts sting.  He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, imagining the ectobody dissolving into the river like a cloud of smoke. After an agonizingly long moment, the pain faded and the ectoflesh dissipated, dropping him about an inch into the water.

Grimacing, Sans reached back and tenderly fingered his newly-bared pelvis.  The bone was a little sore, but luckily his ectobody had taken the worst of the beating.  Thank the stars. Asgore could have _killed_ him…

Forcibly pushing that thought away, Sans hitched his femurs apart and furiously scrubbed at the inseam of his shorts, trying to wash away some of the slick that had gotten smeared onto the fabric.  The motion stirred up a thick cloud of mud, and in the end, he couldn’t tell whether he’d managed to wash himself clean or just replace the gunk with river sludge, but whatever. He’d tried.

Shorts questionably more clean, Sans tugged the hem of his shirt up and squinted down at his rib cage.  The Delta rune glared back at him, emblazoned across his chest in thick, black lines. Asgore hadn’t been subtle about it.  The rune’s wings stretched clear under each of his arms, and the Angel’s circle was the full width of his sternum. It often twinged or itched, especially when Asgore was around, but it had never burned him like that before.

“Why…?” Sans muttered, running a finger tentatively around the circle.  The bone beneath the mark was flushed, but it was an odd, ruddy orange colour instead of the usual crimson.  Not HIS colour, but then…

Sans gently touched his left eye, remembering how the iris had flashed between his own, native red and the Judge’s buttercup yellow when Asgore had been… when he’d confronted him.  Red and yellow… Sans would be the first to admit that he knew almost nothing about how the Judge’s Seal actually worked. He understood that it granted Asgore almost unlimited control over his body and magic, giving him the ability to physically take control and force Sans to do his bidding.  But this… this was some sort of _emotional_ control?  Or was something about this whole, fucked up scenario just getting to him and he was just too goddamn _weak..._

Deeply unnerved, Sans stood, letting the water stream off of his clothes.  He was sore, tired, and starving. He could think about all this at home, hopefully take a shower before Papyrus got home, put some fucking underwear on and THEN he could mentally torture himself…

“Hello Judge.  Care for a ride?” the river person asked languidly behind him.  Sans started, then turned around and gave them a grin that he hoped wasn’t too shaky.

“Nah, I know a shortcut.”

Without hesitating, he turned around and walked out into the middle of the river.  Once his head was fully submerged and the current had started tugging him downstream, he closed his eyes and used his magic to teleport back home.

 

===

 

Sans landed inside his room, peeled off his wet clothes, and balled them up inside an oversized t-shirt.  The smell of decayed plant matter quickly permeated through the makeshift shroud, overwhelming the musty but otherwise inoffensive smell of his room.  Grimacing, he picked some ~~clean~~ cleaner shorts off the floor and threw them on before easing his door open and looking down the loft toward the stairs.  Papyrus had patrol duties today, but he was usually home by now. If he was working in the kitchen then Sans could sneak past…

“Brother?  You’re home early.”

Sans whirled around with an undignified squeak.  Papyrus was standing at the opposite end of the loft, giving him a strange look over a bucket of soapy water and a rag.

“Y-yeah, Asgore called it five cases in,” Sans stammered, hugging his damp clothes close to his chest.  “I’mma just get cleaned up…”

Papyrus raised a browbone.  “You? Cleaned up? Intentionally?”

“It happens every now and again,” Sans quipped weakly.

“I… suppose?  Is everything ok?” Papyrus frowned, peeling off his yellow, rubber gloves and setting them next to the bucket.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sans mumbled, then ducked behind his doorframe and took a shortcut to the downstairs laundry closet.

“Are you sure?  You’re acting a little…oh, for god’s sake,” Papyrus grumbled from upstairs, presumably as he looked into Sans’ room and found it empty.  Sans took a shaky breath, then dumped his laundry into the wash sink and sprinkled some powdered soap on top. That done, he limped over to the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the shower.

“Sans, what are you…”  Papyrus began, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs filtered through the bathroom door.  They paused, and then Papyrus made a disgusted noise. “Oh my god, what are your clothes covered in?!  Mud? Please tell me that this is mud.”

“Yeah, it’s mud.  And for fuck’s sake, would you shove off for five minutes so I can wash my ass?!” Sans snapped, turning around to examine his pelvis in the mirror.  “Shit…”

He flicked the light switch once, then a few more times when nothing happened.  Damn bulb was probably burned out again. He didn’t need extra light to see the damage though.  His ilium were blotched with livid, blood-red marks that perfectly mapped to where Asgore had belted him.  The center of each was a dark knot of craze-lines, little stress fractures where the surface had cracked like dried clay.  Lightly, he pressed his fingertips into one of them and jerked his hand away with a grimace. Fucking hell… He’d always known that his body had the physical resilience of wet paper, but this… he hadn’t even been able to dodge or _do_ something about it.

“As much as I would like to encourage your sudden interest in personal hygiene, a shower probably isn’t a good idea right now,” Papyrus said delicately.  “The power has been out since midday.”

Groaning, Sans tentatively put a foot into the shower.  The water was cold enough to make his toes ache, and it wouldn’t be getting any warmer.  Not without electricity to make the heater turn on.

“Fuck,” Sans muttered, pressing his arms tightly to his sides.  He could use the stove to boil some water for a bath, but that would literally take an hour and goddammit, he just wanted to get the dried mud out of his hip joints.  Why was that too much to ask for?

“hhhHHHHAAAH-“ Sans inhaled sharply as he stepped into the shower.  Gritting his teeth, he quickly turned around, holding up his arms, and then his legs to wash them off.  The water running down the drain turned an opaque black-brown, and he didn’t wait for it to run clear before stepping out, shivering and spitting swear words under his breath.

Papyrus knocked on the door. “Sans, if you’re really serious about bathing, then go heat up some water.  I already have a pot on the stove for de-icing the path, you can use that.”

“W-will you lay off?  I j-just needed a quick rinse, I’m _done_ now,” he spat, teeth chattering so loudly he was sure Papyrus could hear him from the other side of the door.

“A quick rinse?  You smell like someone tried to drown you in the river!  The capitol dumps sewage into that river. _SEWAGE._ ”

“I was upstream of the capitol, it wasn’t that bad,” he grumbled, clumsily unfolding a towel and hugging the threadbare fabric close to his body.

“So you DID end up in the river?  Did someone attack you for an unfavourable judgement?  Do I need to go speak with someone?” Papyrus asked sharply.  The handle turned and Sans snapped his head up, forming a wall of bones that slammed into place over the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, would you knock it off and just talk to me?!” Papyrus demanded, giving the door an angry kick.

“Nobody’s coming after me, all right?  Nothing happened, I just had a long day,” Sans growled, scooping up his shorts and pulling them on underneath the towel.

“A long day?  Brother, do you think I’M STUPID??  You came home _limping_ and _soaking wet_ , so don’t you try to tell me _nothing happened._  Now, are YOU going to tell me about it, or do I need to start interrogating people?”

Sans choked, torn between hysterical laughter and equally hysterical crying at the idea of Papyrus interrogating Asgore.  He honestly wasn’t sure which emotion the situation called for.

“Nobody needs to be interrogated, all right?  Just…leave me alone for a bit, ok? Please?” Sans called, wishing his voice didn’t sound quite so thin and whiny.  Without waiting for an answer, he took a shortcut back to his room and pressed his back against the door.

“Just for a bit…” he sighed, sliding down the inside of the door to the floor.  He jerked back up the second his sore backside touched the carpet, rolling over to his hands and knees with a frustrated groan.

_You deserve this…_

“Just leave me alone,” he whispered to no one in particular, then buried his face in his hands.


	3. Amicus Curiae

Sans must have been more tired than he thought because the next thing he remembered was a light tickle as _something_ slid across his soul.  He jerked awake and swiped at his sternum, backing into the wall in a blind panic.  What the _hell-_

“Ah?!  O-oh...” he quavered, pressing both hands protectively over his chest when it happened again.  The touch was cold, like water dripping onto the apex of his soul and slipping over the surface in a slow, wet stripe.  It was distinctive, and now that he was actually awake, it was crushingly recognizable. He was being summoned to the Judgement Hall.  

“Already?” he groaned, palming the sleep out of his eyesockets.  Muttering excessively unkind things about Asgore and all of Asgore’s near relatives under his breath, he stumbled to his feet and re-wrapped himself in the towel, half hoping that the thin fabric would keep out the invasive, directionless touch.  Clothes, he needed to get some clothes…

“AH!” he cried out as the summons sharpened into an impatient squeeze.  He clawed at his chest with a strangled whine, then staggered backward when the pressure spiked and he was ripped from his room.

“Ghaaaaa?!” he gasped, bare feet skidding on the Judgement Hall’s golden tiles.  Chest heaving, he bent double and stood very still, clutching at the towel draped over his shoulders and swallowing back a wave of nausea.  Being forced to appear instead of acquiescing to the summons had made him throw up before, but it would go away in a minute...

“I take it THIS is your Majesty’s Judge?” someone nearby asked drily.

Sans slowly lifted his head, glaring weakly at the person who’d just spoken.  It was a skeleton monster, wearing narrow, square glasses and a white lab coat sporting half a dozen old stains.  He returned Sans’ look with an amused smile, eyelights darting downward over his bare shins and patched, fraying shorts.  Sans flushed and self-consciously pressed his knees together, intensely aware of the dried grit and lingering stink of river muck clinging to his joints.  A tiny, despairing voice in the back of his head wailed that he was supposed to have come _dressed properly..._

“Unfortunately, yes.  He is new, but not so new that this behavior is excusable,” Asgore replied, looking down at him with cold disappointment.  Sans shivered, wondering if his body would hold up under a second punishment when the first hadn’t even healed.

“Behavior?  Can you elaborate for me, your majesty?”  the skeleton asked, tone blandly polite and clinical.

“Resistance to orders.  Reluctance and moodiness.  Fixation on sex as a distraction,” Asgore listed icily.

“I see.”

The skeleton stepped forward, then slowly circled behind him.  Sans crossed his arms tightly over his chest, staring at the ground and trying to breathe through his dread and uncertainty.  Was this the Royal Scientist? It seemed likely. Lab coat, someone Asgore knew, and more importantly, someone who Asgore would summon Sans here to see. Incidentally, it was also someone who Sans didn’t recognize.  Unlike other nobles and officials in Asgore’s court, Dr. Gaster avoided the public eye, never appearing on television or the propaganda shorts that Mettaton was so fond of producing. Some people were even convinced that he didn’t exist.

“You suspect a problem with the Judge’s Seal?” Dr. Gaster asked, circling around to Sans’ front and making a loose gesture.  A pair of hand constructs melted into existence near his head, then pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket and scribbled something down.

“Perhaps.  I want you to rule out the possibility.”

“Very good, your Majesty.  How long has he had the Seal?”

“Don’t,” Sans growled when a third hand construct flitted over and tried to pull his towel away.  

“Silence,” Asgore snapped.  Sans choked, feeling the command close around his throat and smother his tongue, pinning it firmly to the floor of his mouth.   “He received the seal sixty-three days ago. He did not submit to it willingly, if that makes a difference.”

Gaster was staring at Sans with an intense, focused interest.  “It shouldn’t, but we have so little information on the Seal. It’s possible that this is just a long transitory period, but I’d like to perform an examination, if your majesty permits?”

“Of course.”

“And if your majesty does not have more pressing matters, it would be helpful if you would temporarily step out of the room, then re-enter in fifteen minutes so I can compare results.  With your permission, of course.”

“Very well,” Asgore replied with a slight inclination of his head.  “Sans, you will obey Dr. Gaster’s orders in my absence, and you may not leave until he has concluded the tests.  Is that clear?”

Sans felt the words ‘Yes, your Majesty’ try to force themselves out of his mouth.  The conflicting order for silence grappled with them for a moment, then calmed uneasily when he gave a single, jerky nod.  Asgore narrowed his eyes, but luckily didn’t press for a verbal answer before sweeping out of the room.

“Fascinating,” Gaster murmured as soon as the door had closed.  His hand constructs opened a folding chair and placed it nearby while their master busied himself with an army-green duffel bag.  “Please sit, this will just be a moment.”

The compulsion to obey wasn’t terribly strong, not like when the command came directly through Asgore. Sans still felt a twinge of unease when he forced himself to ignore the order and remain standing.  He tried to ask what, exactly, Gaster found so goddamn _fascinating,_ but gave up when all that came out of his mouth was a voiceless, choked whisper.

“The Judge’s Seal is a very old piece of magic.  And like most old magics, it is poorly documented and the nuances were never really understood.  Fortunately, I might be able to remedy some of that with you. Undress. Your clothes will interfere with the scans,” Gaster ordered without turning around.  Sans closed his eyes and held still, taking a deep breath as the desire to strip built, peaked, and slowly faded.

“We do have a few accounts from previous…” Gaster turned around, then frowned down at Sans.  “You aren’t sitting? Undress,” he repeated, tone firmer and less polite. Sans shuddered once, closing his hands into fists while he waited out the compulsion.  Fuck whatever punishment Asgore wanted to inflict on him, he didn’t have to put up with _this._ This wasn’t even part of being a judge, it was just pandering to Asgore’s little hissy-fit over picking up a hand to use his goddamn _tool._  So fuck him, and fuck this two-bit scientist who wanted to relearn the _nuances_ of this sadistic, piece of shit spell.

“That was two direct orders.  You must be _extremely_ uncomfortable,” Gaster breathed, crouching down to peer up at Sans’ face.  “Yes, you’re starting to sweat. Do you feel nauseous, anxious, or on edge? Occasionally, new judges become depressed as they adjust to the position.”

“Ffffnghk-“ Sans managed, shaking with suppressed fury.

“You may speak.  How do you feel?”

The pressure in Sans’ throat eased, and he coughed, pressing both hands over his mouth.  The hand constructs immediately pulled the towel away and Sans whipped around, closing his fingers around the fabric…

“Stop,” Gaster ordered, tone suddenly flat and cold.  Sans jerked as the command shot through his limbs, weakening his fingers just enough for the constructs to rip the towel away.

“Good.  Now let your arms fall to your sides.”

Sans squeezed his eyes shut, freezing in place and _trying_ to force himself to shortcut away.  He wanted to go home, he didn’t want to be here with this _person_ …

Sans flinched as Gaster’s real hands gently curled around his wrists, and slowly pushed them down.

“W-why?” he finally managed to gasp, then flinched when Gaster ran a cotton swab over the rune on his chest.  The harsh smell of rubbing alcohol drifted up from his sternum, strong enough to make his eyes water.

“Good, clear impression.  Looks clean all the way around,” Gaster murmured.  “At least I think so…” Gently, he pushed Sans’ humeri outward to get a better look at the inscription.  “Believe it or not, size isn’t everything when it comes to the Judge’s seal. I’ve even seen it work without a visible mark, though that was a very long time ago.  As with most things in magic, it’s the intent that matters, not the amount of power that goes into it.”

Gaster turned back to his duffel bag and the hand constructs dropped the towel over Sans’ shoulders.  Sans stared at it numbly for a moment, then wrapped it tightly around his chest. Had Gaster just made a ‘size doesn’t matter’ joke?  It was hard to tell from his expression whether it had been intentional, or if he’d completely missed the innuendo.

“Were you trying to ask me something?” Gaster interrupted his thoughts, pulling a series of flat, black pads out of his duffel bag and linking them together on the floor.

“W-why…” Sans broke off with another round of coughing, then continued, voice hoarse and scratchy.  “Why do you work with _him?”_

Gaster gave him a strange look.  “Him? You mean King Asgore? I work with him because he is my King, and I am his Royal Scientist.”

His tone seemed to add ‘what other reason is there?’ to the statement.  Sans glared at him incredulously, resisting the urge to gag. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be a scientist?  Hadn’t he followed his line of thought any further than that?

“All right.  This is the part where I’m going to insist that you undress.  The scanner in my lab is powerful enough to go through clothing, but the portable version is not,” Gaster said, linking the last set of pads together into a long, rectangular mat. Sans looked down at it hesitantly, struggling with the desire to give in and get this over with, and his immediate, intense dislike of Gaster and everything he stood for.  It was just a scan, but still…

Gaster gave him a small smile.  “Come now, I’m not the judging type.  That’s your job,” he cajoled, waving a hand.  Sans grimaced at the terrible joke, uneasily watching a set of hand constructs drift toward him.  “There we go… you don’t even have to do anything. Just hold still.”

Sans trembled as the constructs lifted the towel away again.

“Good, keep holding still…”

They unbuttoned his shorts and let them fall to the ground.

“Now come over here.”

Again, the constructs guided him through the command, pushing his half-resistant limbs through the motions of walking until his toes were just a few inches away from the base of the scanner pads.

“And lie down…” Gaster began, then frowned, eyes fixing on his pelvis.  “What on earth?” He circled around behind Sans and trailed off. “Oh.”

Sans stared wordlessly at the far wall, impotent fury and humiliation making his cheekbones burn.

“Asgore did this to you?” Gaster guessed, running a finger over one of the marks.  Sans jerked away with an angry snarl, more upset than actually hurt. “Interesting.  He certainly focuses on the punitive aspects of the seal. Perhaps that is part of the issue...”

He trailed off, and the constructs nudged Sans to his knees, then into a lying position on his side, arranging his limbs so that as much of his body was in contact with the pads as possible.  Sans didn’t help them, but he didn’t resist either. Get it over with, just get it over with…

“Baseline scan.  Subject is an adult, male skeleton monster who has received the Judge’s seal.  Subject has had the seal for sixty-three days and is unusually resistant to accepting orders,” Gaster said, enunciating with care. “Sans, what is your opinion of his majesty, King Asgore?”

Sans made a small, angry noise, then squirmed in surprise when the pads underneath him noticeably warmed.

“He is my _king,”_ Sans spat, looking up at Gaster.  A hand construct gently, but firmly pushed his head back down.  “Is this being recorded?”

“Yes,” Gaster replied, then crouched down behind him.  “Subject displays irritation and open hostility when questioned about his monarch.  Moderate bruising on pelvis and femurs suggests subject was punitively struck… twenty-seven times with a blunt instrument, which may be a related factor.”

Before he could react, Gaster’s hand constructs casually pulled his legs apart, then lightly thumbed his pubic symphysis.  Sans recoiled with an outraged squeal.

“Sensitivity and mild arousal shortly after interacting with monarch common as with past judges on record.

“Fucking… STOP!” Sans screamed, flailing and trying to kick off the hands as they quickly readjusted their grip to hold him more firmly in place.  “Get the fuck off mMMMNGH!!”

“Subject is generally resistant and combative.  Basic personality may conflict with the common Judge mould, but that alone doesn’t seem to be a compelling hypothesis given the amount of elapsed time since the Seal was applied.”  Gaster dictated over Sans’ protests as a swarm of hand constructs pinned him down, covered his mouth, and spread his legs a little further apart. “Previously examined judges were, by all accounts, docile, and enthusiastically willing-”

BANG

Sans scrambled backward, flinging up a shield of bones between himself and Gaster.  Gaster’s hand constructs lay in pieces on the ground around him, slowly disintegrating into dust.  Gaster stared at Sans with a mildly surprised expression, making no move to retaliate or create his own defenses.

“ **Sans** ,” Asgore’s voice boomed through the hall.  

“Hnn-” Sans choked as his entire body seized up, joints locking in place and bone attacks dissolving into shimmers of spent magic.  Unable to stop himself, he toppled over, hitting the tiles shoulder and skull-first with a hollow, echoing clack. Asgore loomed into view, looking impossibly tall as he surveyed the scene with cold fury.

“Dr. Gaster, is everything under control?” he demanded softly.

“Hmm?  Oh yes, your majesty, everything is going very well.”

Sans felt a hand run down the length of his spine, sending a wave of tingles running outward along his ribs.  He tried to jerk away, tried to shout at Gaster to get the fuck off, but nothing happened. He couldn’t even breathe or close his own eyes.

“Fascinating.  If I may, could your majesty move the Judge back to the scanner?  Please maintain your control over him as you do.”

“Certainly.”

Sans managed to take a single, hitched breath as his body slowly pushed itself upright, then walked back over to the scanner and lay supine over the surface.  A single, low whine pushed past his teeth as the surface put harsh, stinging pressure on his sore pelvis.

“And now with your majesty’s influence removed?”

The control lifted and Sans immediately rolled onto his side, whimpering aloud as his head, pelvis, and shoulder throbbed with pain.  A flock of hand constructs immediately swarmed him, but he didn’t try to resist when they held him down against the scanner. Fighting only made it worse...

“Mehh-” Sans grunted, jerking his knees inward as a hand construct flicked his tailbone. The little tap sent a warm flutter of heat over the rim of his pelvic inlet, making the opening throb needily.  

“Increase in sexual response with return of monarch noted,” Gaster said aloud.  “Your majesty, I believe these tests are finished-“

Something connected deep inside him when Gaster said the word _finished,_ and Sans instinctively seized it.  His magic immediately responded, letting him FINALLY shortcut away.  He reappeared in his room, gasping for breath and trembling as sweat ran down his forehead and dripped off his chin.  After a second, he shakily tried to wipe his forehead, then recoiled when he saw a hand construct still gripping his wrist. 

“Eeee!” he squealed, stumbling backward as the half-dozen or so other hand constructs that had come along for the ride all let go of him and idly drifted off into the air like a flock of hideous butterflies.  One of them hesitated, then drifted back over and tried to rub his shoulder in a vaguely affectionate way. Sans recoiled and swatted it away.  It flew into the wall with a dry thud, then dropped to the ground with a senseless twitch.

“GET OUT!” he shrieked, summoning a wave of bones and crushing them all into dust.  He panted as he watched the white, shimmering powder dissolve into nothingness, leaving no trace of Gaster behind.  There. It was over. It was over and he’d made it out. He’d made it, he was…

Sans slowly curled forward into a ball.  Tears began to spill down his cheeks, dripping silently into the carpet.  Stupid. This was stupid. He didn’t know why he was crying. He’d survived, hadn’t he?

The delta rune burned dully on his chest, and he broke down into quiet, shuddering sobs.


	4. Joint Administration

Drinking at Grillby’s had lost its appeal for reasons Sans couldn’t think about without getting his shorts wet and feeling depressed at the same time, so he compromised by not thinking about it at all and getting wasted at a dive bar in Waterfall.  He was sore and achy, but after two rounds of whatever the bartender had pushed at him, the buzz had nicely blunted all his body’s complaints. Made the atmosphere a lot more tolerable too. The tiny taproom was full to bursting with miners and local farmers, all spending a rare paycheck on cheap alcohol and dice games.  They were loud, rowdy, and annoyingly friendly.

“Hey you!”  Annoying-and-friendly-miner-number-one finally called to Sans, pushing a shot of something vaguely green down the bar toward him.  “Put your lips on that. Get you fucked up real good!”

Well damn, he couldn’t turn down a free drink.  Without asking what it was, Sans took the shot, swallowed the contents in one gulp, then slammed the glass down with a shudder of revulsion.

“Goddamn, you trying to kill me with this shit?” he gasped over laughter from the others, wiping off his tongue on his sleeve while he waited for the vile-tasting burn to fade.  “What the fuck’s in this, Vulcan jizz?”

A pair of Aarons howled from a corner booth, slapping the table like it was the best joke they’d heard in years.

“Good shit, isn’t it?  Barkeep’s gotta moldbygg who makes it in the back,” a clam monster snickered.

“I think they scoop it out of a ditch,” a Woshua muttered, hunching protectively over his pristine glass of water.

“Maybe so, but it sure gets the moss offa your teeth, don’it?”

“Get the moss offa your everything,” Sans replied with relish, then tossed some gold onto the bar.  “Anyone want another one?”

The monsters roared their approval as the bird-like bartender swooped in, flicked the coins into her belt pouch, and fluttered off to get a tray.  Sans sat back in his chair, half-listening to an Aaron and a Woshua arguing over the best way to shore up a crumbling cave wall. They eventually agreed that their favourite part was clearing the debris away, but they strongly disagreed on the correct method.

Another few hours passed in a pleasant daze.  Sans felt a twinge of guilt whenever he thought about the time, but there just never seemed to be a good way to break off from the group.  And if he was being really honest with himself, he didn’t want to go. He’d missed this. Well, not getting smashed, but he’d missed hanging out with people and just bullshitting about life.  Ever since he’d become the Judge, people at Snowdin either avoided him, or talked to him in half-lies like he was some government plant. But this… this felt normal. Wonderfully, amazingly, fabulously normal, and it seemed like forever since he’d felt like that.

Eventually, the bar emptied out and Sans reluctantly followed the last of the patrons out.  He was thoroughly tipsy, but after a moment’s solemn consideration he decided that he wasn’t too tipsy to teleport.  It was one of his strongest magical abilities, after all. Easy as walking, only with less effort…

THWACK-

“OW!“ Sans spat, backing away from his newly-dented front door.  After a second, he giggled and straightened up, rubbing his stinging nasal aperture with a grin.  Whoops, misjudged that a bit. Good thing he hadn’t accidentally broken his face or scratched the paint on the door, Papyrus had just finished re-doing it…

The door slammed open and Sans stumbled back a step.  Papyrus was standing in the doorframe, looking so angry that Sans half-expected a dark stormcloud to roll in behind him to spit out a bolt of lightning.

“H-heya boss,” Sans started with a weak grin.  “Uhhh, I…”

Sans broke off with a squeak as Papyrus lunged forward and scooped him into a furious hug.

“I.  Am so happy.  That you’re safe,” Papyrus said in a choked voice, then roughly set him back down inside the house with a glare.  “Now where were you, why do you smell like a moonshiner’s bathroom, and what the fuck happened today?”

He slammed the door shut and locked it with an ominous click.  Sans swallowed hard and shifted awkwardly in place. “Asgore called me again this morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his face with both hands.  “I…”

He broke off and looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling far too sober for this conversation.

“Just went out drinking afterward.  That’s all,” he finally managed.

“Asgore called you?  Today? But today wasn’t a Judgement Day,” Papyrus said with a confused frown.

Sans gave a single, half-hearted laugh.  “Nope.”

Papyrus’ expression melted into an irritated sort of concern.  “All right, what’s going on then? If someone’s coming after you, then just _tell me_.  I can help!  Or we can go talk to Asgore.  He won’t take kindly to someone interfering with the King’s Judge…”

Sans burst into harsh, cynical laughter, doubling over as tears poured down his face.  After the first few seconds, the laughter dissolved into dry, wracking sobs, leaving him gasping for breath and struggling to control his breathing.

“Brother?” Papyrus asked tentatively, taking half a step forward.

“Knock knock,” Sans half-whispered, holding a hand tightly over his mouth.

“What…?”

“Knock knock,” Sans repeated, then continued when Papyrus didn’t oblige him with the proper answer.  “Who’s there?  Nobody.  Nobody who?  Nobody you. ‘Cause nobody judges the King when the King owns the Judge.”

“Sans, what the fuck are you talking about?”  Papyrus asked, voice tight and strained.

“It’s HIM.  You can’t do anything about it, bro.  Nobody can do anything about it. Nobody can…”

Sans fell silent with a little whimper, scrubbing his eyesockets as tears began to pour down his face.  “Sorry, just forget I said anything. I’m drunk and I’m talking stupid and-“

Sans tensed up, half raising his hands as Papyrus stepped forward, then very gently tipped his face up into the light.

“King Asgore is the one doing this to you?”  Papyrus asked very softly, running a thumb lightly over the nasty bruise on Sans’ temporal bone from earlier that day.  Sans froze, trembling lightly and unable to speak. Papyrus half opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then made an odd, strangled noise and wrapped his arms around Sans’ shoulders.

“You aren’t stupid,” Papyrus said shakily, holding him close.

As though his words had opened up the flood-gates, Sans slowly collapsed into the embrace, sobbing quietly into Papyrus’ shirt.

“T-thank you…” he finally managed.  “I didn’t… I didn’t t-think anyone... would b-believe me…”

“I believe you.  I almost wish I didn’t, but it’s the only thing that makes sense."  He gave a single, strangled laugh. "Oh stars, _Asgore?_   Fucking hell, you just had to pick the only LV 20 monster in the Underground to pick a fight with, didn't you.  Brother, we’re going to need help…”

Sans laughed bitterly.  “Help. What for, bro?  So I can get a bunch more people killed when Asgore decides to start killing off troublemakers?”

“Well, no, but perhaps we can try diplomacy and subtlety!” Papyrus responded irritably.  “What about Undyne? She and Asgore have a long history, perhaps she could intervene…?”

Sans mutely shook his head.  Undyne intervene?  With subtelty? Only five million ways that could go to hell in a fucking handbasket.

Papyrus sighed.  “Please brother? What harm could it do?  At the very least, she will say she cannot help and we will be no worse off than before.  Please?”

Sans groaned and buried his face in Papyrus’ shirt.  Fine, whatever. He’d go get the fucking handbasket ready.

“Never could stop you from doing what you wanted, Boss.  Ain’t gonna start now,” Sans said tiredly, wishing that today could just be over.

“Thank you,” Papyrus said with a heavy sigh, then awkwardly pushed him out to arm's length.  "Now go take a fucking shower. The power is back on and you're burning out the inside of my nose."

Sans grinned sheepishly.  "You don't gotta nose bro."

Papyrus smacked him over the head, then firmly pushed him toward the bathroom.


	5. Sanction

Sans and Papyrus crashed on the couch in the living room, half-watching Mettaton’s ‘Interview with a Political Prisoner’ show.  Not much to the interview, Sans reflected.  Mettaton’s guest literally had a piece of tape over her mouth, and anything she ‘said’ was obviously just Mettaton speaking off-screen in a falsetto tone.  A month or so ago, he might have found the obvious propoganda darkly humourous. Now it was vaguely depressing and relatable.  Either way, he felt slightly relieved when the power went out sometime around midnight, and the old set shut itself off with a hiss of static.

Light was just peeking through the windows the next morning when Sans felt the Judgement Hall summons slipping over his soul.  He jolted awake, then leapt off the couch and rushed into the bathroom.  No, no, no, it was too soon.  Please, he needed more time…

“Sans?  Sans, what’s wrong?” Papyrus called from the living room.

“He’s calling me again.  I can’t.  I HNNGHHH-“ Sans grunted, doubling over the sink with a low whine.  “I don’t want to, please, I don’t want to, AAAAAGHHHHH!”

Sans cried out as the summons ripped him out of the house.  He half heard Papyrus curse loudly, right before he reappeared in Judgement Hall at Asgore’s feet.  Asgore was sitting on his throne, expression impassive and posture rigid. A pair of armoured royal guards were standing to either side of him, faces unreadable behind their black helms.

“Take him,” Asgore commanded.

Sans cried out as guards knocked him to the ground and locked a heavy pair of cuffs around his wrists, twisting his arms and pressing his head roughly against the floor.

“Hold still,” one of them growled, drawing a heavy, flint knife out of their belt.  Sans froze, unable to look away as the guard cut his clothes open at the seams, ripped them away, and tossed them into a corner.

“Leave us,” Asgore commanded as soon as they’d finished.

The royal guards exited, leaving Sans panting, bound, and naked on the floor.

“Dr. Gaster, you may begin.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Gaster said, stepping forward from the shadows.  Sans watched with growing horror as a set of hand constructs rolled what looked like a tall chair without a seat from behind a pillar and set it up near his head.

“What are you doing?” Sans half-whispered, cringing away as Gaster’s hands lifted him off the floor and set him on the chair, leaving his hands cuffed behind his back.  The constructs quickly secured his shoulders to the backrest with a heavy Velcro strap, then spread his legs apart and bound them to the chair at his knees and ankles. The seat was high enough that his feet couldn’t touch the ground, and the straps were positioned to keep his pelvic inlet ominously centered over the open seat.

“What am I doing?”  Gaster repeated, eyelights flicking up to where Asgore was silently watching.  “I’ve already explained this to his majesty, but for your benefit I will reiterate.  The Judge’s Seal is a self-contained and complex spell. With further study, I should be able to find and strengthen those parts of it that affect obedience.  But in the meantime, there are measures we can take to ease the transition into your role.  Open.”

Sans flinched back, keeping his mouth firmly closed as Gaster reached for his face.

“Do as he says,” Asgore rumbled, tone igniting that all-too-familiar panicky anxiety.  Shaking in earnest, Sans parted his teeth, then grimaced when Gaster began to attach a set of leads to the roof of his mouth.

“Looks like we have good flow,” Gaster murmured, pressing down on Sans’ tongue.  “But it's important that these probes remain in contact with your body.  I'm afraid that this will be uncomfortable.”

Sans gagged in protest as something that tasted harshly of rubber was forced between his teeth and cinched tightly into place.  He jerked away, then cried out when Gaster began squeezing a bulb that was attached to the gag, inflating the toy inside of his mouth.

“That should be sufficient,” Gaster said cheerfully once Sans’ jaw was stretched open far enough to make his jaw ache.  “And now, if your majesty will give us something to work with?”

“Certainly.”

Sans arched backward with a muffled screech, feeling magic rush down his spine and solidify into a vulva and a very short passage.  It felt dry, awkward and overly tight, like someone had wrapped a few dozen rubber bands around his pelvic inlet.  Reeling, he looked down at it, slightly incredulous that he'd been able to form at all when he was so intolerably unaroused.  After a second he blinked, sure that he was seeing things.  The construct was a dull, buttercup yellow.

“Looks like we’ve got a ways to go,” Gaster sighed, pulling on a pair of gloves and holding out a hand.  A construct spread some clear gel on his fingers, and he rubbed it over his fingertips before slowly running spreading it Sans’ labia.  Sans inhaled sharply as the cold touch sent a chill down his femurs, then whimpered softly when a single, lubed finger slowly worked its way inside him.  The touch was all the more violating because Gaster was standing so fucking close he might as well be sitting on his lap...

“Whatever it is that’s allowing you to hold out against Asgore, try to hold onto it,” Gaster whispered near his accoustic meatus.  Sans froze, heavily confused by the advice, then jerked as a second finger slipped inside him and began to curl against his inner walls.

“To continue answering your question,” Gaster said in a much louder tone of voice.  “Your body is fragile. Exceptionally so for a monster qualified for the Judge’s position.  And though drugs administered directly through the soul take effect more quickly, it is far too risky in your case.  The shock alone could kill you.”

Sans’ breath hitched as Gaster’s fingers carefully scissored him open, pressing along his inner walls with firm, slick strokes.

“Luckily, magical constructs are much hardier.  They are designed to take some abuse, and drugs can be administered through them instead.”

“Hnn… Mmnnn… Mmngh-“ Sans protested as the fingers began to pump in and out of him.  Unbidden, his body was reacting to the stimulation, pussy slicking itself and growing hot despite his growing fear and apprehension.

“I was not expecting you to be so small and tight though.”

“MMNGH-“ Sans spluttered as a third finger was pushed inside him.

“Perhaps more stimulation would help…”

Without breaking stride, Gaster’s constructs pushed Sans’ labia apart, ran an alcohol swab over his clit, and pulled upward on the sensitive tissue to allow it to dry.  Sans squirmed, choking protests as Gaster retrieved a tube of superglue, spread a generous amount over his clitorous, then pressed a black, plastic bullet against him, holding it firmly in place.  The glue set up rapidly, forming a stiff and itchy coating over the false flesh that contrasted maddeningly with the gentle pressure against the head of his clit.

“Just relax now.  We’ll start with a lower setting.”

“MNNNNGHHHH!” Sans shrieked as the bullet began to vibrate.  His body clenched, and slick fluid gushed over Gaster’s fingers as his pussy twitched, nearly surprised into orgasm by the intensity of the sensation.

“Perhaps a little less…”

“Mnn…hhh…hhh,” Sans panted, trying to swallow around the gag as the vibration decreased in intensity.

“Good boy,” Gaster murmured.  “I believe we can start.”

Sans snapped his head downward as something cold, hard, and intimidatingly thick pressed up against the opening of his pussy.  It was a smooth, steel-coloured rod like some sort of industrial dildo, but there were a set of screws and other mechanical parts attached to the handle that had him extremely worried about what else it was supposed to do.

“Just relax,” Gaster said again, then slowly began to push the tool inside him.  Sans jerked, breath coming in sharp, shallow inhales as the cold metal slipped inside him.  The surface was slick, and the lube allowed it to move easily, but the rod was so wide and long that his inner walls were already stinging from the strain of containing it.

“Breathe.  You can take this deeper, just let it in.  Think of your position, Sans.  Your Kingdom needs you.”

Sans cringed, trembling as a sickening mixture of anger, fear, and desperately unwanted arousal rushed through him.  His cunt burned and clenched around the rod, trying to force it out. Gaster frowned, then pulled the tool back about an inch and looked up at Asgore.

“Your majesty?  This procedure will be more effective if he is relaxed and aroused.  It might be helpful if you provide some encouragement through the Seal.”

“Hmmm,” Asgore murmured thoughtfully.  Sans tensed, eyelights fixed on him as he stood, then slowly circled around behind him.

“Nnnn-“ Sans started when a single, massive finger brushed down the side of his face.  Whether it was the contact, the closeness, or just a side-effect of the Judge’s seal, he felt himself crumpling inward, pussy slowly relaxing.

“Fairly hopeless, aren’t you?” Asgore murmured as Gaster slowly pushed the rod deeper.  Sans shook, tears welling up behind his eyesockets and saliva seeping out from around the gag.  “If the Judge could have been any other monster, then I would have dispatched you like the worthless dog you are and tried again…”

Sans jerked as the vibrator glued to his clit began to pulse in quick, intense bursts, making his inner walls twitch needily around the rod.

“Good, you’re loosening up,” Gaster said, slowly pushing a finger into Sans’ pussy beside the rod.  “Just a little more…”

Sans’ breath hitched, hips subconsciously rocking back and forth as Gaster added another finger and began to pump them in and out in a slow, even rhythm.  The intense pressure and friction was compelling and gratifying, making him feel lightheaded and unbearably close. For a moment, he was unable to think of anything other than Gaster’s fingers and Asgore’s hand still loosely circled beneath his chin, resting on his collarbones like a heavy collar.

“Ghhhkk-“ Sans moaned as he came, inner walls squeezing around Gaster’s fingers and the rod for a blissfully long moment before the orgasm faded, leaving him feeling exhausted, cold, and trembling from head to toe.

“Good boy,” Gaster murmured.  Sans whimpered as the vibrator on his clit switched to a low-frequency buzz, less intense than the pulsing.   The glue felt harsh and irritating to his newly oversensitive body, and even the lighter vibration was grating enough to make him squirm with discomfort.

“Try to stay relaxed now, just a little longer.”

A metallic clicking came from below him, and Sans cried out in alarm as he felt the rod split apart and began to expand into a speculum, pushing his inner walls outward and spreading him open to the point of agony.

“Almost there, this is the worst part,” Gaster said cajolingly, levering him open a little more.  Sans swayed, head pounding as the tight, stinging stretch sent renewed heat and desire through his body.  The superglue tugged awkwardly at the flesh around his clit, making him uncomfortably aware of the little nub and the vibrating bullet still teasing him.

“Mmmnn…nnnnn…” Sans groaned as a second orgasm pulsed through him, more gently than the first.  His head was still spinning as he felt something cool and hard slip press firmly against the end of his passage and sit there, so deeply that it made him ache.

“This is a drug release capsule,” Sans dimly heard Gaster say.  “It should be good for about two weeks before it will need to be replenished.  Fortunately, now that it’s in place, replenishment should be much less invasive.”

Sans jerked as the speculum was abruptly retracted, then removed.  Intensely relieved, he collapsed into the restraints, chest heaving and entire body shaking as he felt hot fluid drip down his femurs.  His pussy burned, and he could still feel that _thing_ inside him.  It felt foreign, heavy, and oddly warm.  A drug release capsule? What kind of drug...

“And now we need to ensure it stays in place.”

Sans flinched as something cold was sprayed over his pussy.  He tensed, then cried out as something sharp pressed into one of his labia, then pulled _through_ him in a sickeningly wrong way with a flash of stinging pain.

“Sans, hold still,” Asgore coldly demanded.

Sans sobbed, gripping the seat of the chair with his chained hands and freezing in place as his sense of self-preservation screamed at him to fight back instead of _holding still_.  Unable to stop himself, he looked down between his legs, chest heaving with short, panicked breaths.  A fist-sized ball of white plastic was lodged inside his pussy, just visible through the buttercup-yellow distortion of his magic.  As he watched, Gaster’s hand slowly drew a strand of thick, black suture attached to a sickle-shaped needle outward from between his legs.  As he did, Sans felt one of his labia pull sickeningly away from his body for a gut-wrenchingly long moment, then go slack.

“Pnnngh…” Sans tried to beg around the gag as Gaster pushed the needle through his other labia and pulled the stitch taut.  “Pnnghhh nnnn…”

Gaster glanced up at him impassively for a moment, then pushed the needle through his labia again.  Feeling like he was about to throw up, Sans squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe as Gaster continued to stitch his pussy closed over the vibrator still glued to his clit.  The alien, grating tug of thread pulling through his ecto-flesh filled his mind, making him shudder despite Asgore’s command.

“I believe that we are finished here,” Gaster finally said, giving Sans’ stitched-up labia a final inspection before wrapping his pelvis and genitals up neatly in a cloth bandage. Sans obediently remained in position with his eyes closed, sobbing quietly.  Whatever Gaster had sprayed on him had numbed the worst of the pain, but something about the idea of what was down there, what had been _done_ to him, hurt far, far worse than everything else that he’d endured.  He didn’t want to see it, he didn't want to...

He heard Asgore circle around to his front.  Sans opened his eyes and trembling, looked up at his king.  Asgore returned his look with a small, pleased smile. Sans gripped the seat harder, taking quick, shallow breaths as he stared at Asgore pleadingly.  He was being good, he was holding still. Please tell Gaster to take it out. Don’t leave him like this, don’t leave him like this, please, please, _please_...

“Thank you for your service, Sans.  You may go,” Asgore said with more than a hint of smug satisfaction.

 

===

 

Sans managed to make the teleport home, then immediately collapsed in his room with a full-bodied scream.  Fumbling, he pulled at the bandages over his pelvis, unaware of anything other than the need to get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT-

“Sans?!  Sans, what’s wrong?  Sans, what… Oh... Oh no… ”

Sans felt someone scoop him into a tight hug and he desperately latched onto them, sobbing hard enough to make his face ache and his entire chest burn.

“Papyrus?  What's going on?” came Undyne’s voice from the landing.  “Is that Sans?  What… Oh.  Oh fuck.  Holy fucking fuck, that…” the sound of footsteps came halfway into the room, then backed out with a muffled retching noise.  “That is fucked up, holy _fuck-“_

“Thank you Undyne, I wouldn’t have FUCKING NOTICED if you hadn’t said something,” Papyrus snapped, voice edging on the near side of hysteria.

“Oh good, glad I fucking said something then.  I’m… I’m going to get Alphys, this… Shit, I don’t even know man, I ain’t touching him, I don’t know what the fuck that is.  I’m going to go make a phone call, just stay here, ok? _Fuck-“_

“It hurts… It hurts…” Sans whimpered, pressing his legs tightly together holding both hands protectively over his groin.

“I know, I know, just hang on, ok?  We’re going to get you some help, all right?  Just hold on…”

Sans gave a single, terrified sob and Papyrus pulled him closer, murmuring calming things and gently rocking him back and forth.  Sans miserably clung to him, desperately trying to make himself believe that it really was going to be ok.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this entire fic in one go, but the chapter format should work better in case people want to pace themselves. Makes it easier to do that last little round of editing too ^_^
> 
> Curious about commissions? More info [here.](https://ravvi-k.tumblr.com/post/167932441348/supportcommission)


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